


Starting Over

by Heisey



Series: The Owl [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Avocados at Law, Blind Character, Blindness, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Drug trafficking, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Law Firm, Love/Redemption, Nelson Murdock & Page, Opioid Epidemic, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-Karedevil, heightened senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heisey/pseuds/Heisey
Summary: The glow from their reunion at the end of season 3 has faded. Now Matt, Foggy, and Karen must do the hard work of rebuilding their law practice and their friendship. Then a new crime boss appears in Hell’s Kitchen, aiming to fill the vacuum left by Wilson Fisk, and Daredevil isn’t the only vigilante who’s trying to stop him.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page, Matt Murdock/Elektra Natchios, Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Series: The Owl [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850617
Comments: 44
Kudos: 46





	1. Getting the Band Back Together

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place shortly after the end of season three and long before the arrival of the coronavirus. I hope it will provide a little distraction from our surreal reality. Stay safe, everyone!

_Lee Owlsley_

Lee Owlsley stood at the window of his 52nd floor corner office in the Financial District, looking uptown. So far, everything was going according to plan. Even before his father’s broken body ended up at the bottom of an elevator shaft, hurled there by Wilson Fisk, he and his father had put their plan in motion, transferring Fisk’s assets to themselves and sequestering them offshore. After the discovery of his father’s body, Lee continued to carry out the plan, until the State of New York and the Feds, those Fisk hadn’t gotten to, froze the crime boss’s remaining assets. In the two years since his father’s death, Lee had overseen the slow, painstaking process of laundering those assets and putting them to use. Fisk’s money had enabled him to move to New York from Chicago and set up his own financial services firm, the perfect cover for his real business. Unlike his father, Lee was not content merely to be the money man for a crime boss; he was going to be the boss himself. Some sixty blocks north of his office was the perfect territory, just waiting for someone like him to take it over in the wake of Fisk’s downfall: Hell’s Kitchen.

  
_Matt_

The chirping of the alarm woke him, too soon. Matt groaned and slapped the top of his talking alarm clock to shut it up. The electronic voice announced, “seven o’clock a.m,” then mercifully fell silent. It felt like four minutes, not four hours, since his head hit the pillow. Daredevil was busy last night. Since Wilson Fisk’s arrest, the human traffickers, drug pushers, and gun dealers had returned to Hell’s Kitchen, seemingly in greater numbers than before. Especially the drug pushers. And he was hearing rumors about a new would-be boss who was aiming to fill the vacuum created by Fisk’s absence.

What was worse, he was not looking forward to the day ahead of him. Foggy had scheduled a meeting this morning, to hash out the future direction of Nelson, Murdock & Page. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like some of Foggy’s ideas, but he was hardly in a position to dissent. After all he’d put them through, Foggy and Karen still wanted to be his partners and his friends. He didn’t fully understand why, but he’d take it. He was not going to fuck this up. He wouldn’t get another chance, not even from Foggy. He set those thoughts aside and dragged himself out of bed.

An hour later, Matt, Foggy, and Karen were sitting around a table in their temporary office above Nelson’s Meats, with breakfast sandwiches and coffee provided by Foggy’s brother Theo. Foggy was saying, “I’m not saying we aren’t going to help people.” He paused, apparently noticing the skeptical expression on Matt’s face. Then he continued, “I’m just saying we can help people and make a living at the same time.”

“But, Fog – ” Matt protested.

“Just hear me out,” Foggy said. “Whether you want to admit it or not, it takes money to help people. Getting paid in chickens isn’t going to cut it. I’m not talking about charging people 500 bucks an hour so we can have fancy offices and expensive apartments. But there’s a big difference between that and working for nothing. What we do has value, and in our society you get paid if you perform a valuable service.”

“So what are you saying?” Karen asked.

Foggy raised a finger. “First, when we have a personal injury case, we do it on a contingency fee. That way, the person responsible, or his insurance company, pays us.” He raised a second finger. “Second, not all of our clients will be poor folks. Hell’s Kitchen is changing, whether we like it or not. If someone can pay, they pay, on a sliding scale based on what they can afford.” He raised a third finger. “Third, if there is a deserving case and the client can’t pay, we consider doing it _pro bono_ , but only if all of us agree.” He raised a fourth finger. “Finally, we already have some paying clients, who decided to come with me from Hogarth’s firm. We bill them at the usual hourly rate.”

“I bet Hogarth was pissed about that,” Karen remarked.

“She was,” Foggy confirmed, “but there’s nothing she can do about it. It’s the client’s choice.” When neither Matt nor Karen had anything more to say, he turned to Matt. “You’re being awfully quiet, Matt,” he said.

Matt shrugged. “It’s not really what I had in mind.” he said. He turned to Karen. “Are you OK with this?” She nodded. “Then it’s two to one. You win, Fog.”

“It’s not about who wins, Matt,” Karen told him. “We have to be smart about this. We can’t help people if we can’t stay in business. The only reason we were able to keep the doors open before was because of the big checks from CGI and . . .” She swallowed hard. “. . . and Elektra. That’s not sustainable. I know. I was the bookkeeper.”

Foggy sighed wearily. “Just give it a chance, OK, Matt? You want to help people without getting paid for it? You have Daredevil for that.”

Matt scoffed. “You mean I’m still _allowed_ to be Daredevil?”

“C’mon, Matt, you know you don’t need my permission. It’s not like I could stop you.”

“You would if you could,” Matt muttered.

Karen spoke up before Foggy could get a word in. “This isn’t helping, guys,” she said. “We’re supposed to be talking about the future of Nelson, Murdock & Page.”

“We are,” Foggy retorted. “Matt being Daredevil is directly relevant to the future, for all of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Matt demanded.

“C’mon, Matt, you know as well as I do, it’s only a matter of time before you get caught, or seriously injured, or worse. Then we’re all fucked, not only you.”

“I’m not gonna let that happen.”

Foggy scoffed. “Says the guy who stayed behind and let a building fall on him.”

Matt clenched his jaw. There was no way he could make Foggy understand why he stayed. And even if Foggy had finally accepted that he wasn’t going to stop being Daredevil, Foggy would never fully understand why he couldn’t stop. He got to his feet and started to walk away. 

Karen gasped. “Foggy – ” she began, with a warning in her voice.

He didn’t let her finish. “I’m not backing off,” he said. “As long as Matt is Daredevil, we’re all at risk.”

Matt reached the door and grabbed his jacket and cane from the coat rack, then turned to face them. “Let me know when you decide my future,” he said as he walked away. 

The door had barely closed behind him when he heard Karen say, “Well, _that_ went well.” If Foggy replied, Matt didn’t hear him. He wasn’t listening.

He made his way down the stairs and out the side door. Once outside in the alley, he leaned against the wall and let his grief wash over him. His first thought, when he woke up in the orphanage infirmary, was of her, Elektra, but after Father Lantom told him no one had escaped from the building, he had never allowed himself to grieve for her. At first he was focused on his recovery. Then he was consumed by the overriding need to take down Wilson Fisk, to keep Foggy and Karen safe. Now he couldn’t avoid the reality of her death: she was truly lost to him, this time. There would be no miraculous return. He had saved her, only to lose her. He blinked back tears and slowed his breathing. Someone was coming. Karen, probably. He didn’t want to talk to her, or anyone, right now. He sprinted to the sidewalk, then unfolded his cane and walked away, as quickly as he could.

He stopped a few blocks away, when he was sure no one was following him. Then he realized where he was. Without consciously thinking about it, he had headed in the direction of Fogwell’s Gym. It was in the next block. He shrugged. It was as good a destination as any. Maybe hitting the heavy bag would help. He waited for the light to change, then crossed the street.

After pummeling the heavy bag for a half hour, he paused to catch his breath. His mind felt clearer now, the grief not so overwhelming. The old hand wraps he’d found in one of the abandoned lockers were getting loose after repeated hits on the heavy bag, and he started to unwrap them. Then he heard someone approaching: Foggy.

“Matt?” he called. “Are you in there?” Not waiting for an answer, he opened the door and stepped in.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Matt replied. “What do you want?”

“Karen says I owe you an apology,” Foggy explained.

“Got that right,” Matt muttered. Then he raised his voice and asked, “Do _you_ say you owe me an apology?”

“Yeah, I do,” Foggy replied. “What I said, about staying behind, that was out of line. I shouldn’t’ve said it, and I’m sorry.”

His heartbeat was steady. “Apology accepted,” Matt told him, turning back to the heavy bag. 

“And I’m sorry about, you know, Elektra,” Foggy added. “They say you never forget your first love.”

“They’re right,” Matt said curtly. He hit the bag a couple of times, hoping to discourage any further conversation on the subject. 

Apparently Foggy got the message. “Come back to the office?” he asked. “We still have things to talk about, you know.”

“Do we?” Matt asked. “Seems like you and Karen have everything planned out.”

“Not without you, buddy,” Foggy declared.

Matt took a deep breath. He wanted Nelson, Murdock & Page, too. No, more than that, he _needed_ it. He needed to square things with Foggy and Karen. “OK,” he said, “we’ll try it your way.” 

“Good,” Foggy replied. “It’s gonna work, you’ll see.”

“I hope so.”

“It will. Trust me. And I’ll try to keep my mouth shut about you-know-who.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Matt muttered under his breath. Foggy heard him and groaned. Matt grinned to take the sting out of his words. Then he finished unwrapping his hands and followed Foggy out of the gym.

There wasn’t much conversation on the way back to Nelson’s Meats, but there wasn’t any rancor, either. Their anger had faded as quickly as it had flared up. As he walked alongside Foggy, holding his friend’s arm, Matt berated himself. He had almost blown it with Foggy and Karen – again. Jesus, he was such an idiot. What was he thinking?

When they got back to the office, Karen didn’t ask what happened, apparently knowing they had patched things up. Matt guessed there was some non-verbal communication between her and Foggy, that he couldn’t pick up. They spent the rest of the morning moving tables and chairs and setting up the partitions Karen had found at a secondhand office furniture store. When they were done, they had three somewhat private offices and a reception area. It wasn’t Landman & Zack, or even their old office, but it would do. 

Foggy and Matt left Karen at the office while they went to Matt’s apartment to pick up his case files, those the FBI hadn’t seized in their futile search for evidence linking him to Fisk. Now that Fisk’s manipulation of the Bureau had been exposed, Matt didn’t expect a problem getting the rest of his files back. But if they fought him, that was a fight he was looking forward to. 

He was relieved to find the Feds hadn’t taken his file on the Aaron James case. Even though the trial had ended, he still had work to do on the case. But Matt had been lucky, for once. Not much had happened in the case while he was gone. The defendants had filed an appeal, but the court reporter was still working on the trial transcripts that were needed before the appeal could proceed. Matt would have to call Aaron and his parents and reassure them he was on top of things, but he still wasn’t sure how to explain his absence. He needed to come up with a plausible story that had at least a passing resemblance to the truth. 

Once the files were boxed up, Foggy and Matt hauled them downstairs, along with Matt’s scanner and Braille printer. An obliging cabbie answered Foggy’s hail and helped them load everything in the trunk, before driving them back to the office.

  
That evening, Matt was sitting on the couch in his living room, his legs stretched out in front of him and a bottle of beer in his hand. He let his mind wander. His thoughts drifted back, to the time he sat with Elektra on this same couch, comparing their scars. Before the Hand killed her. Before they took her and turned her into . . . something else. But it didn’t take. Her sense of self and maybe, just maybe, her love for him had overcome what the Hand tried to do to her. Regret welled up in him. He’d been so close to reaching her, the real Elektra the Hand had failed to erase. At the end, in the underground chamber beneath Midland Circle, he even dared to hope he’d succeeded. But their time ran out. He heard it running out as the timer on the bombs ticked down inexorably. Then she was just . . . gone. It was true, what he’d told Stick that day at the cemetery: they had only had a few moments together. Now there would be no more moments. Only his grief and regrets remained, all the stronger for having been suppressed for months.

He drank the last of his beer and set the bottle down on the table in front of him. As he rose from the couch, planning to grab another from the fridge, he let in the sounds of the city around him. Someone pulled back the slide on a semi-automatic. Paper rustled as a customer exchanged money for drugs. A woman screamed. His city needed him, needed Daredevil. He had work to do. 

He crossed the room and opened the closet. As he pulled his black shirt and pants out of the foot locker, he reminded himself he needed a better suit, one that protected him better. Not the devil suit. Not after Poindexter wore it. Maybe he could persuade Melvin Potter to make him a different suit out of the light, strong material he’d invented. There was only one problem with that plan: even after Fisk’s downfall and the exposure of the FBI agents who served him, Potter was still in federal custody. He needed to get Potter out. Surely he could convince the AUSA that Potter was acting under duress when he went back to work for Fisk. He would have to talk to Foggy about it tomorrow. Karen, too. He set his jaw, put on his black outfit and mask, and jogged up the stairs to the roof. 

  
_Foggy_

When Foggy returned from court the next morning, Matt was the only one in the office. He was sitting behind the table that served as his desk, in his shirtsleeves. He was slumped over on the tabletop, his head resting on his folded arms. He didn’t react when Foggy walked in. Oh, shit. He was unconscious. “No, no, no, no, no,” Foggy muttered under his breath. “God damn it,” he thought, “this can’t be happening. Not again.” Trying to ignore the knot in his stomach and the tightness in his chest, he decided to take a closer look. He needed to find out how badly Matt was injured. He took a couple of steps forward, then stopped short. There was no blood anywhere, and Matt’s breathing was deep and steady. He wasn’t injured. He was sound asleep.

Foggy gave a silent sigh of relief, then turned and tiptoed away, but he wasn’t quiet enough. Matt raised his head. “Hey, Foggy,” he said.

“Hey. You OK?”

“Yeah, just a little tired.”

“Long night?” Foggy asked.

“You could say that.” Matt reached into his pocket and pulled out something that looked like a piece of paper, folded into a small square. He held it out to Foggy. “Take a look at this?”

Foggy took it and examined it. “What is it?”

“Heroin,” Matt replied. “I interrupted a drug deal last night. While I was, uh, taking care of the dealer, his customer took off. But he dropped that when he ran away. From what they were saying, I’m guessing it has some writing, or something, on it.”

Foggy turned the folded paper over in his hands. “Yeah, it does,” he told Matt. “It looks like – ” He studied it for a moment. Finally he said, “It’s an owl. Maybe the dealer’s brand?”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Matt agreed, “but probably not the street dealer’s. Probably someone higher up.”

Foggy nodded. “Makes sense. What were they saying about it?”

“The dealer was saying something like, ‘This is the real shit.’ Then he held out his hand, like he was showing the buyer something. I’ve been hearing talk about some high-grade heroin that showed up recently. I’m thinking this is it, and whoever’s putting it out on the street wants people to know what they’re buying.”

Foggy pulled up a folding chair and sat. “Any idea where it’s coming from?”

Matt shook his head. “No clue.” He rubbed his eyes before he continued. “But there’s a lot of drugs out there. It’s like it was when we were kids, remember?” 

Foggy nodded. He remembered, all too well. People he’d known all his life had gotten caught up in it. Some were in and out of rehab. His own cousin had just gone to rehab, for the second time. Others were dead. “God damn opioids,” he muttered.

“You got that right,” Matt agreed. He frowned and shook his head. “I can’t get ahead of it. Neither can the cops. I hear them talking. For every dealer we take off the streets, two more show up. It’s like every lowlife in the city decided it was open season in Hell’s Kitchen after we took care of Fisk.”

“Nature abhors a vacuum,” Foggy observed.

“I guess. It’s looking more and more like Fisk kept a lid on all that shit, not just the drug dealers but the guns and human trafficking, too. They’re all back since he’s been gone.”

“Shit, you mean Fisk might actually have done some good?”

Matt rubbed his face wearily. “Yeah. Unintended consequences and all that. But he still had to be stopped.”

“Damn right he did.” Foggy handed the paper package back to Matt. “What’re you gonna do with this?” he asked.

“Keep it. For medicinal purposes, you know.”

“Matt!”

Matt grinned. “I already flushed the drugs. But I’m hanging on to this,” he said, holding up the package with its owl logo. 

“You know, buddy,” he said, “you should go home, take a real nap. I got things covered here.”

“No, I’m fine,” Matt protested.

“Do I have to remind you I just found you sound asleep at your desk? That’s not a good look, one of the partners sleeping on the job. Go home. You can thank me later.”

Matt tried to protest, but he couldn’t hold back a yawn. “OK, OK, I’m going,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. He put on his jacket and picked up his cane, then walked slowly out of the office.

Foggy smiled to himself as he watched Matt walk away. It felt good, Nelson, Murdock, and Page together again. Then he remembered his panic a few minutes ago, when he thought Matt was injured, or worse. Welcome to my life, he thought resignedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought it was a little odd that Matt’s first thought, when he wakes up in the orphanage, is of Elektra, but she basically disappears from the story after Father Lantom tells Matt no one was seen getting out of Midland Circle. As far as I recall, the only other time she's mentioned is in episode 3, when the Fisk in Matt's head says she died because of him. It’s understandable – there was a lot going on in season 3. But I think, even if she’s not mentioned, her loss must have played a large role in Matt’s mental state.
> 
> My take on what transpired between Elektra and Matt in their final moments below Midland Circle is one possible interpretation. There are others. YMMV.


	2. The Myth of Sisyphus

_Foggy_

Later that day, a somewhat rested Matt came back to the office. Instead of sleeping, he apparently had spent his time at home figuring out how to persuade Foggy and Karen that the firm should take on Melvin Potter as a client. At first, they were not happy about the idea of representing the guy who made the devil suit for Poindexter, but Matt finally convinced them Potter was one of Fisk’s victims, too, and he needed their help. Foggy decided he should be the one to visit Melvin in the federal lock-up; there was too great a risk he might recognize Matt.

When Foggy went to see Melvin, he soon learned that Melvin wasn’t interested in legal help. He was only interested in protecting Betsy, his parole officer and girlfriend. If he had to stay in jail to prevent disclosure of their relationship, he would do the time. Eventually, Foggy gained Melvin’s trust, after promising not to reveal Betsy’s identity when negotiating with the AUSA. Fortunately, the AUSA didn’t consider Melvin a target, and by that time the prosecutor was familiar with Fisk’s methods. He’d already seen plenty of people who had caved in when Fisk threatened their loved ones. Foggy only needed a few minutes to persuade him Melvin had been acting under duress when he made the Daredevil suit for Poindexter, and the AUSA wasn’t particularly interested in charging Melvin with assaulting a bunch of corrupt FBI agents who were working for Fisk. A few days later, they appeared before a judge, who dismissed the charges at the government’s request.

Foggy met Melvin at the jail when he was released. He told Melvin there was no fee for his services, but Melvin could “do a favor for a friend of ours.” 

  
_Matt_

A week later, Daredevil showed up at Melvin’s workshop. 

“Hey, Melvin,” Matt said when Melvin raised his head from his work. “I heard you were out.”

“Yeah,” Melvin replied, “your lawyer friend got me out.”

“Betsy’s OK?” Matt asked.

“Yeah. Still pissed off at you, though.”

“Sorry about that.”

Melvin shrugged. “No point in both of us getting popped.” He fiddled with some kind of tool on his workbench – Matt didn’t bother to identify it – before he continued. “So, my lawyer said he wanted me to do a favor for a friend. Guess that’s you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Matt replied. “I could use a new suit, if you’re still willing.”

“Sure.” Melvin put the chisel down and started rummaging among the tools on the workbench, as if he was going to start working right away.

“Not the devil suit,” Matt hastened to add. “Poindexter killed people when he was wearing it.”

“What, then?”

“Something that looks like this,” Matt said, gesturing at the ordinary black shirt and pants he was wearing, “but with protection.”

Melvin was silent for several minutes. Matt could hear him muttering under his breath, thinking. Finally, he said, “You remember the suits I made for Mr. Fisk, with the armor in the lining?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah,” he said, not sure what Melvin was getting at.

“I could do something like that, make an undershirt and leggings that you could wear under your shirt and pants.”

Matt considered this for a minute. “That’ll work,” he said.

“But you’ll need head protection, too,” Melvin pointed out.

“Maybe you could put a lining in the mask,” Matt suggested.

“Not as good as the helmet, but, yeah, I can do that,” Melvin said.

“Thanks, Melvin,” Matt said, holding his arms out as Melvin approached with a tape measure.

  
Weeks passed. Daily life in the makeshift office above Nelson’s Meats fell into a routine of sorts. Officially, the firm was known as Nelson & Murdock. As a non-lawyer, Karen couldn’t be a partner in the firm, but Matt and Foggy considered her a partner, anyway. She would work for the firm as their investigator while she was completing the requirements to be licensed by New York State as a private investigator. Then she could hang out her own shingle next to theirs.

A trickle of clients found them. Some were returning clients; apparently, Nelson & Murdock still had some goodwill left in the community. They had Theo to thank for some of their new clients. Matt had heard him talking up his brother’s law firm to his own customers. Other new clients sought them out because of Foggy’s run for DA. 

Matt finally figured out what to tell the James family: he told them he was away because of an emergency and had been staying with a family member. It wasn’t the whole truth – far from it – but it wasn’t a lie, either. Technically. They accepted his apology for failing to keep in touch during his absence, and he went back to work on the case.

At night, the criminal element in Hell’s Kitchen was keeping Daredevil busy – too busy. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get ahead of them. Neither could the cops. He heard them talking about it, every night.

One morning, Matt trudged wearily into the office. He dropped his briefcase and cane on his desk and fell into his chair. Karen seemed to pick up on his mood and appeared with coffee a minute later.

“You look like you could use this,” she said, handing him a cup.

“I can,” he said. “Thanks.” He sipped the hot brew gratefully.

“Rough night?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Seems like they all are, lately,” she observed.

“You got that right.” He drank more coffee and set the mug down on the table. “You remember Sisyphus, in the myth?”

Karen nodded. “Sure. He pissed off the gods, big time, and was condemned to push a huge rock up a hill, and when it reached the top, it rolled back down, every time, for eternity.”

“That’s what it feels like out there,” Matt said. “I get one drug dealer off the street, and two more show up. And they have plenty of customers.” He rubbed his face. “I can’t get on top of it.”

“Foggy said you think it’s because Fisk is out of the picture.”

“I do. He controlled the street crime in Hell’s Kitchen, only let his own people operate there. It was part of his plan to change the Kitchen, to gentrify it. With Fisk out of the way, it’s wide open.” He frowned. “Hell, Turk Barrett even came back from Harlem. I ran into him a couple nights ago.”

“That has nothing to do with Fisk being gone,” Foggy told them, as he walked into Matt’s office. “He got sideways with Luke, and it got too hot for him uptown.”

“Maybe the others can help,” Karen suggested.

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Others?” he asked.

“You know, the others, from, um, Midland Circle,” Karen explained.

He didn’t think so. He’d let them think he was dead, just like he did with Foggy and Karen. And he hadn’t even contacted them after he came back. By now, they probably knew he had survived. The return of “the real Daredevil” had been reported in the media, after Poindexter was exposed as an imposter. And there was coverage of Father Lantom’s funeral, too. He doubted Jessica, Luke, and Danny would want to help him. He wouldn’t, in their place. Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t their problem, anyway. And being with them would just remind him of a time in his life that he’d rather forget.

“No,” he said flatly, hoping that would put an end to the discussion. Apparently Foggy and Karen got the message. Foggy changed the subject, asking for their opinions about the settlement offer he’d just received in one of their new cases.

  
A little before three o’clock the next morning, Matt was standing at the corner of his apartment building’s roof. It had been a busy night, but now it seemed as if things had settled down. He was considering whether to call it a night when he heard something. It was faint, at the outer limits of his amplified hearing. A woman’s scream, followed by another, deeper voice, angry. A man. He took off in the direction of the voices, leaping to the roof of the building next door, hoping he could get there in time. Whatever was happening, it was bad. And it was blocks away. 

By the time he arrived at the rooftop above the location, it was all over. The man with the angry voice was lying on the ground, unconscious. The woman was cowering next to a dumpster, sobbing. Someone else had handled it. Not the cops. If it was them, they would still be here. He heard sirens approaching; the cops were on their way. For an instant, Matt thought he sensed something – no, someone – on the roof of the building next door. He was moving away, fast. Then he was gone – if he had ever been there at all. Matt crouched on the roof, trying to keep out of sight as he listened to the woman tell one of the cops what happened. When the conversation was over, he stood up and jogged across the roof, away from the scene. Time to call it a night.

  
Foggy and Karen were already in the office when Matt arrived in the morning. He got a cup of coffee and joined them in Karen’s office. He drank coffee and listened to Foggy tell Karen a long, complicated story about ditching school with Brett Mahoney when they were in seventh grade. Matt had heard it before. It wasn’t any funnier the second time around. But he waited for Foggy to finish before he spoke up.

“Have you guys heard anything about someone going out at night and doing, uh, what I do?”

“No,” Foggy replied.

Karen shook her head. “Me neither. Why?”

“Last night, I heard a woman being assaulted,” Matt explained, “but when I got there, someone else had already taken out the guy who attacked her. The victim told the cops he just appeared out of nowhere. He took out the guy so fast, she said he was down before she even knew what was happening.”

“Probably a wanna-be,” Karen suggested.

“Or maybe it was Frank Castle,” Foggy said.

Matt shook his head. “It wasn’t Castle. No dead bodies.”

“Frank isn’t even in the city,” Karen said coldly.

Matt turned toward her and raised his eyebrows. “And you know this, because – ?”

“A lot happened while you were hiding out in that church basement, Matt,” Karen replied.

Matt started to protest that he wasn’t “hiding out,” but thought better of it. To be honest, he _was_ hiding out. “So I’ve been told,” he said mildly.

“If not Castle, who?” Foggy asked.

Matt shrugged. “No idea.” He paused for a beat, then added, “I don’t like it, someone running around the Kitchen, taking out criminals.”

“Really, Matt?” Foggy asked.

“What?”

“Do you even hear yourself? ‘Running around the Kitchen, taking out criminals’ – I think we know someone who does that.”

“C’mon, Fog, that’s different. You know it.”

“No,” Foggy declared, “it’s not.”

Matt stood up, his hands on his hips, and turned toward Foggy. “I don’t kill people.” He pointed at Foggy. “You know that. This new man, we don’t know who he is, what his agenda is. People could get killed.”

Foggy didn’t answer him for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and said, “OK. Point taken. So what’re you gonna do about it?” 

“Find him.” Matt strode out of the office.

  
_Lee Owlsley_

There was a knock at his office door. Lee put down his newspaper, the Late City Edition of the _Bulletin_ , and said, “Enter.” He looked up to see Martin Broadus, his Chief Operating Officer and right-hand man, entering the office.

“Well?” he asked.

Broadus hesitated a moment before answering, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Then he said, “We need to make bail . . . for two more.”

“God damn it, Martin!” Lee exploded. Then he stopped himself. It wasn’t Martin’s fault. He was only the messenger. No, that wasn’t true. He was much more than a messenger. He was as close as one man could be to indispensable, the man who got things done on both sides of the business. Now in his mid-forties, he was starting to go gray, but he was still as fit as the twenty-something who went to work for Lee at Silver & Brent’s Chicago office, the day after he received his MBA from the University of Chicago Business School. Lee had recruited him himself and never regretted it. Martin had proved his worth, many times over. It had been worth every penny Lee paid Martin to persuade him to move to New York and join the new firm.

“Sorry,” Lee said wearily, waving a hand. “Get it done.”

“You got it, boss,” Martin replied. Instead of turning to leave, he continued, “But we gotta stop the bleeding. That’s ten of our guys taken off the streets in the last week. And it’s not only Daredevil that’s the problem. There’s a new guy who’s started showing up and taking out our people, too.”

Martin was right. Daredevil was becoming more than an annoyance. He was putting a real crimp in their operations. And now there was someone else, maybe an independent, maybe working with Daredevil. He wasn’t sure. But they had to be stopped. “What do you suggest?” Lee asked.

“Put some more muscle on the streets,” Martin said. “They can protect our dealers and distributors and deal with Daredevil and this new guy, whoever he is.”

“Do it,” Lee ordered.

“And there’s one more thing,” Martin began.

“‘One more thing’?” Lee echoed him sarcastically.

“Sorry about that,” Martin said. “But our people, the ones we’ve already gotten out on bail, are reporting that Daredevil is asking them to name names, specifically, yours. Some of them have gotten beat up pretty bad, but they’ve all kept their mouths shut, so far.”

“Good. That has to continue. Make sure they know there will be consequences, severe consequences, for anyone who gives up my name.”

Martin nodded and left.

  
_Matt_

Finding the new vigilante turned out to be harder than Matt anticipated. Over the next ten days, the same thing kept happening. Matt rushed to the scene of a crime in progress, only to find the unknown vigilante had been there first. Most of the victims gave Daredevil credit for saving them, but Matt heard several of the criminals tell the cops it wasn’t Daredevil. Among the criminal element, at least, word was getting around that there was a new vigilante on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The only good thing about it, from Matt’s perspective, was that he wasn’t finding dead bodies. Whoever he was, the new guy wasn’t killing people.

But people _were_ dying. It felt like the streets of the Kitchen were awash in heroin, and overdoses were on the rise. If what Matt was hearing was accurate, most of the heroin on the market carried the “owl” logo. At night, Matt concentrated on the dealers, trying to find out who was behind the flood of heroin. During the day, both he and Karen were working on it. They came up empty. Either no one knew where it was coming from, or those who knew weren’t telling. Then, shortly after the new vigilante’s appearance, Matt noticed something else new: the dealers selling the “owl” brand of heroin had backup. Now he had to deal with both the dealers and the thugs who were protecting them.

  
It was the end of a long week. Matt crouched on a rooftop above West 49th Street, near 11th Avenue. The drug dealers were out in force tonight. As usual. But things were quiet, for the moment. He got out of his crouch and sat with his back to the low parapet wall, his legs extended out in front of him. He let his senses scan the city below him, but his mind was on other things. Specifically, Karen. After she trusted him with her secrets, he hoped they might eventually pick up where they left off, before he fucked up so spectacularly. He didn’t know if that was even possible. Karen had given him no sign she was interested in being anything more than a friend and business partner. Her heartbeat sometimes sped up when he was around, but even his senses couldn’t tell him what was in her heart or in her mind. He knew one thing for sure: she hadn’t forgiven him for letting her and Foggy think he was dead. Her dig about hiding in a church basement was proof of that. Days later, it still stung. Get real, Murdock, he told himself. He had no business even thinking of a future with Karen. Not now. It was too soon. She needed time to heal. So did he.

Then there was Elektra. The mere thought of her name brought a stab of pain to his chest. It was familiar, now. He welcomed it. He deserved it. His bad decisions had brought them to that cavern underneath Midland Circle. He had no doubt she would have escaped, if he had not been there. But he was there, a reminder of who she was and what the Hand had tried to take from her. For what seemed like the thousandth time, he relived their final moments together, the moments that showed him “what living feels like.” Then she was ripped from his arms. He now understood why she did what she did. It was because he had, finally, reached her. She no longer wanted to live as what the Hand had created, any more than he wanted to live as Matt Murdock after her death.

Angry voices floated up to him from the street below. A drug deal, apparently going bad. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and headed toward the voices. 

“You ain’t rippin’ me off, asshole,” one of them was yelling. Probably the dealer. “This is the real shit. You want it, you gotta pay.”

“Go fuck yourself,” the customer replied.

Matt jumped down to the lid of a dumpster, behind the dealer. The customer took off, apparently having seen him.

“God damn junkie,” the dealer muttered as he pulled out a handgun and raised it. Matt launched himself at the dealer, knocking him to the pavement. The gun discharged, the bullet lodging harmlessly in the asphalt. Matt knelt on the dealer’s back and twisted his right arm behind his back, almost to the breaking point.

“Who’s your supplier?” Matt demanded in a low growl.

“Fuck you.”

“Wrong answer,” Matt informed him, jerking the man’s arm upward. “Try again.”

The dealer howled in pain, then gasped out, “Do I look like a guy who hangs around with the bosses?”

“Don’t know,” Matt replied. “Give me a name.”

“I don’t have one!” the dealer insisted. “I get a text telling me where to pick up the shit. Then I get another text telling me where to drop the cash. I never see no one.”

“Give me your phone,” Matt ordered. The dealer handed it over. Matt examined it quickly. Probably a burner, and the texts probably came from another burner. He stuck it in his pocket anyway. He’d have Karen or Foggy take a look in the morning. Then he spun the dealer around and knocked him out with two quick blows to the head. The dealer’s limp form had just hit the ground when he heard heavy footsteps approaching from both directions. He counted four heartbeats. Shit. The dealer’s backup had arrived. A little too late for the dealer, but not too late to cause a shitload of trouble for Matt.

One of the approaching men pulled out a semi-automatic and fired until the clip was empty. Matt leaped and twisted to dodge the bullets. While the gunman was reloading, Matt came in close and took him down with a leaping kick to the chest, followed by an uppercut to the jaw. He picked up the gun, pulled it apart, and threw the pieces away. They clattered across the pavement. 

When a second man came at him, Matt sidestepped out of his path, then got him in a chokehold from behind. Before Matt could incapacitate him, a third man, armed with a knife, came up behind him and began slashing. Melvin’s armor underneath his shirt stopped the blade, but Matt lost his hold on the second man, who turned and began punching him in the face as the third man continued to slash at him ineffectually. The fourth man was approaching, about to join in the attack, when another figure appeared behind him. The newcomer was so fast and silent that only Matt knew he was coming. A blade ripped through the air, and the fourth man went down. The two men attacking Matt saw the newcomer and froze for an instant. That was enough to allow Matt to break away and counter-attack. The newcomer moved in, almost too fast for Matt to detect, and pulled one of Matt’s attackers off of him. Matt focused on the other man, trading punches with him until Matt landed a blow to the right side of his head that sent him to the ground. When he turned his attention to the remaining attacker, he, too, was lying on the pavement.

Matt stood with his hands on his knees, panting to catch his breath. The newcomer was several feet away, not even breathing hard. Matt focused on him, then straightened up in shock. The person who had come to his aid was a woman. He couldn’t pick up a heartbeat. Then he got a faint whiff of her scent. Adrenaline jolted him. His heart pounded. His throat tightened. He could hardly breathe, much less speak. Finally, he forced out a single word, in a strangled croak. “Elektra?”


	3. Love and Redemption

_Matt_

“Hello, Matthew.” It was her voice, with its slightly mocking tone, the voice he never expected to hear again. With two strides, he covered the space between them and took her in his arms, whispering her name, over and over. She relaxed into his embrace, putting her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Elektra. Oh, my God, Elektra.” He immersed himself in her scent, the sound of her breath, the feel of her chest pressed against his, rising and falling. He still couldn’t hear her heartbeat, but she was warm. She was _alive_. 

She whispered his name. “Matthew.”

He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her. After a time, he didn’t know how long, he stepped back and dipped his head to one side.

“Cops’re coming. We should go,” he said. “Come with me?”

“Yes,” she said simply, taking hold of his hand. They climbed to the roof and raced across the rooftops. As they ran, Matt felt the weight of his grief lifting. And there was something else. It wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with. He thought it might be joy.

They stopped when they reached the roof of Matt’s building. After he caught his breath, he turned toward Elektra and held out his hand. She took it and followed him down the stairs. Once inside, he pulled off his mask and gloves. Elektra did the same with hers, tossing them on the coffee table before sitting down on the couch. Matt grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge and opened them before sitting down next to her, but not too close. He’d come down from the high he felt when he realized she was alive. He wasn’t sure where this was going. They needed to talk. He handed her a bottle, and they drank in silence. Then they both spoke at the same time.

“How – ?”

“Where – ?”

Matt chuckled, a little embarrassed, then waved his hand. “You first.”

“How’d you make it out of the building?” Elektra asked him.

Matt shrugged, holding his hands out, palms up. “Honestly, I don’t know.” He licked his lips and swallowed. “I was holding you when the building came down.”

“I remember,” she murmured.

“The next thing I remember, after that, is being outside. It was down by the river, near an outlet for a storm drain, I think – my senses were all messed up. Sometime later – I don’t know how long it was, I was mostly out of it – a cab driver found me. I woke up enough to give him my priest’s name, Father Lantom. He came, and they brought me to the orphanage where I grew up. The nuns took care of me. That’s it.”

He took a drink of beer, then turned to her and asked the question that he’d wanted an answer to, ever since he woke up in the orphanage. “Where did you go, Elektra?”

“Nowhere, at first.” 

“But you got out,” Matt said. “How?”

She sat silently for a moment, apparently remembering. “I was holding on to you. Ash and dust were falling, everything went dark. Then there was a rush of air, and you were just . . . gone.” She fell silent for a beat. “Or I was. Next thing I remember is waking up in the escape tunnel.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Escape tunnel?”

Elektra nodded. “Yes. Gao had it built. She always made sure to have a back door, a way out.”

“Did she get out?”

“I don’t know. There’s been no sign of her. Or Murakami.”

“Good,” Matt said harshly. He rolled his beer bottle between his hands, then set it down on the table without drinking. “Go on,” he prompted her, waving his hand.

“Gao’s escape tunnel connected to other tunnels, and I found a way out. Then I started looking for you. I went to Midland Circle, but no one there knew anything. So I started following your friends.”

“You followed them? Foggy and Karen?”

She nodded. “And the others, the ones who were there with you. You have to understand, Matthew, I was desperate to find you. So were they. But eventually, they all accepted that you were dead. All except the woman, Karen. She refused to believe it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Matt replied quietly.

“You didn’t contact them?” Elektra asked.

“Not right away. I was out of it for a long time.” That was true, as far as it went. He didn’t want her to know how badly he’d treated Foggy and Karen. 

She didn’t comment on his answer. Instead, she took a deep breath before she continued. “Then I had to leave. Leave New York, I mean,” she said. “There were . . . things . . . that required my attention.”

“What kind of things?” he asked.

“The five ‘fingers’ of the Hand were no more, but remnants of their organization still existed. I needed to deal with them.”

Matt’s heart sank. He thought he had reached her, but now he wasn’t so sure. He had a pretty good idea what “dealing with them” meant.

She must have seen something that betrayed his thoughts, because she answered the question he didn’t want to ask. “No,” she said, “I don’t mean killing them. The Hand had valuable assets. I needed to be sure they understood they work for me now.”

“And if they didn’t?” Matt regretted the question as soon as he blurted it out.

“That wasn’t a problem,” Elektra assured him. “They all fell in line.”

Unable to hear her heartbeat, Matt didn’t know for sure if she was telling the truth. He didn’t pick up a false note in her voice or any of the other physical signs that usually gave away a lie, but she was a skilled liar. He knew that from bitter experience. He could only hope she was being truthful now.

“Besides,” Elektra continued, “they were useful. Among them was a group of hackers who erased all records of my death. So I now have my identity back – and my assets.”

“And you came back.”

She nodded. “I did.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked.

“Not to me.”

“When I saw the news reports about Daredevil killing people in a newspaper office and a church, I didn’t know what to think. Part of me wanted it to be you, because that would mean you were alive. But another part of me didn’t want to think you had become a killer. Because even if you were alive, you wouldn’t be you anymore. I had to know what was happening with you.”

“It wasn’t me,” Matt told her.

“I know that now. But I didn’t know it then. So I decided to come back when my business with the Hand was finished. By the time I got here, the imposter had been exposed, and you were back together with your friends. I told myself I should stay away, but I couldn’t.”

“So, what, you decided to help me deal with the drug dealers?”

“Yes,” Elektra told him. “Among other things.”

“What do you want from me, Elektra?” Matt asked with a sigh. “Just tell me.”

“Nothing that you aren’t willing to give.” She moved closer to him and caressed his cheek. He flinched at the contact. “When we were there, under Midland Circle, you knew the building was going to come down.” He mouthed a “yes” in response. “But you stayed. You wouldn’t leave me.” He nodded. She reached out and took both of his hands in hers. “And in that moment, I knew, Matthew, I _knew_. You weren’t making a grand romantic gesture or trying to be a hero. I never understood it until that moment, but I did then. The light in you, the light that couldn’t be extinguished, it was love. And I loved you for that. That’s why I love you.”

Maggie was right, Matt told himself. Love and redemption. It always came down to that. The Hand tried to turn Elektra into their weapon, but they failed. His love for her, and her love for him, had brought her back, as herself. He didn’t need to hear her heartbeat to know it was true. Matt took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. When he raised his head and took a breath, she moved closer, her breasts pressing against his chest. He cupped them in his hands. She traced the outline of his lips with a fingertip and kissed him, then pulled his shirt over his head and ran her hands over his torso, her fingertips dwelling on the most recent scars. When her hand drifted lower, he took hold of her wrist and stopped her.

“Hold that thought,” he said with a smile, as he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Making love to Elektra felt like coming home, to the place where he needed to be, but didn’t know it until he was there. It was a place where he was free. No acting blind. No hiding his abilities. This was where he belonged. There was no more grief, no more anger, no more pain. That was all in the past. There were no walls between them. He no longer knew where he ended and she began. They were as one. He let his senses take over and lost himself in the sensations that were uniquely her. The scent of an expensive perfume mixed with her sweat. The softness of her skin under his lips and fingertips, and the firmness of the muscle underneath. The silk of her hair, brushing across his face. Her voice, whispering his name. The little shudders of delight, when he did the things she liked. He remembered what they were. Oh, yes, he remembered. When he felt her reaching her peak, he went there with her and followed her over the cliff.

In the pre-dawn hours, Matt lay awake, unable to sleep. At his side, Elektra was sleeping soundly. He wanted to believe in her, in the redemptive power of love, but he couldn’t silence his doubts. In college, he was her mission. No. Not her mission. Stick’s. Maybe he was her mission again, a mission of her own choosing this time. But to what end? Finding no answer, he fell into a restless sleep.

In the morning, Matt walked out of the bedroom, already dressed, his tie in his hand. He put it on the kitchen table and sat down across from Elektra. She poured coffee and handed the mug to him. He sipped and put it down, then said, “We need to talk.” She nodded. “I’m not sure what this is – ” He waved his hand.

“Oh, I think you know, Matthew,” she murmured.

He didn’t respond. “But whatever this is, it can’t come between me and Foggy . . . and Karen. What I do with them, helping people, that’s important to me. I won’t push them away, not for you, not for anyone. I’m not gonna make that mistake again.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“You’re not?” he asked. 

“No. I saw what happened before, when you were . . . estranged from them. I have no desire to see that happen again. And I’m sorry, Matthew, for what you and they suffered. Because of me,” she replied.

“It was my choice,” he said hoarsely. He stood up and took few steps away from the table, then turned to face her, his arms folded across his chest. “You didn’t answer my question last night. Why are you here, Elektra? What do you want from me?”

“I think you know.”

“Tell me.”

She drank coffee and set her mug down on the table, then took a deep breath before she answered him. “I’m still the Black Sky, Matthew. But I no longer serve the Hand. I serve only myself and those whom I choose to serve. What I want is to serve your people, in Hell’s Kitchen, with you. If you’ll let me.”

“It’s that simple?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes.” She rose from her chair and went to stand facing him. “I can help you, you know I can. Let me help you, Matthew.”

“And if I say yes?”

“We both keep doing what we’ve been doing, but we do it together. And we find out who’s behind the drugs flooding into Hell’s Kitchen.”

“And nobody dies,” he said.

She nodded solemnly. “Nobody dies.”

  
_Foggy_

Matt was late to work, and Foggy was worried. It wasn’t like him to be late. Ever since they re-formed their partnership, Matt had pulled his weight. But there was still plenty for Foggy to worry about. The ever-expanding drug trade, the gun dealers, and the human traffickers were keeping Daredevil busy, every night. Foggy was certain it was only a matter of time before Matt ended up badly injured or worse. And there was also his fear that Matt would spiral down again and turn into the ghost who found him in a Hell’s Kitchen bar and told him their friendship was over. Foggy wasn’t sure which would be worse.

Foggy checked the firm’s calendar on his phone for the fifth time. It hadn’t changed: Matt had nothing scheduled this morning. So where was he? He was about to call Matt when his friend and partner walked in the door with a huge grin on his face.

“She’s alive, Foggy, she’s alive!” he exclaimed as he rushed into Foggy’s office.

“Who’s alive?” Foggy asked, dreading the answer. He really did _not_ want to know.

“Elektra!” Matt replied.

The name elicited an audible gasp from Karen, who had come out of her office when Matt arrived. Foggy looked over at her. The color had drained from her face. She looked stricken, as if she’d just lost her best friend. “Elektra?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes,” Matt confirmed. “She’s the one who’s been helping me, you know, with the drug dealers.”

“Oh.” Karen turned and walked back into her office. When she emerged, she was carrying her handbag and briefcase. “I gotta go,” she said, “don’t want to keep the witness waiting.”

Foggy gave her a questioning look. He was pretty sure there was no witness. Karen’s only response was a warning glance, before she walked out of the office. The door closed behind her.

As soon as Karen’s footsteps faded away, down the stairs, Foggy exploded. “What the actual fuck, Matt? Elektra?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah. She made it out. And she’s changed.”

“Damn right she’s ‘changed’,” Foggy told him, “she’s a freakin’ zombie killing machine.”

Matt smiled wearily and shook his head. “Whatever the Hand did to her, or tried to do to her, it didn’t work. When we were together, before the building came down, I got through to her. It’s her, Foggy, it’s really her. And she wants to help me do what I do.”

Great. Now there were two crazy vigilantes in his life. He must have done something very, very bad to deserve this. He only wished he knew what it was. “And you know this how?” he demanded. “You sure your lie detector is working?”

Matt got the shifty look that Foggy knew all too well. “Uh, no, actually. I can’t hear her heartbeat. But I believe her.”

“You believe her.” Foggy sighed loudly. “No, Matt, you _want_ to believe her. That doesn’t mean she’s telling the truth.” Then it dawned on him. Oh, shit. This was worse than he thought. “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”

“What if I am?” Matt demanded defiantly. “That’s none of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t. Have you forgotten what happened the last time she showed up?”

“This is different, Fog. Trust me.”

“Really, Matt, that’s all you got?” Foggy scoffed. He took a deep breath, then added, “She could always lead you around by your dick.”

Matt winced. Apparently Foggy had hit a nerve. “It’s not like that, Fog,” he protested weakly.

“Really? Tell that to Karen.”

“What’s this got to do with her? We’re just friends.”

“C’mon, Matt, you know she didn’t leave because she had an appointment with a witness. Don’t try and pretend you didn’t notice she was upset.”

Matt shrugged. “Maybe. But I don’t know why she would be. It’s not like she wants to have anything to do with me outside of this office.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what your super senses are telling you. But, sure, keep telling yourself that, if you think it gets you off the hook. After all, it’s only Karen getting hurt – again.”

“That’s not fair, Fog,” Matt protested.

“Yeah? Aren’t you the one who told me life’s not fair?”

Matt stood up and headed toward his office, then stopped and spoke over his shoulder. “I’m not going to make the same mistakes again. It’ll all work out, you’ll see. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Foggy sighed and went back to work, trying to ignore the heavy feeling of dread that was settling in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt’s inability to hear Elektra’s heartbeat is based on a scene in _The Defenders_ , where he tells Stick he couldn’t hear it during the fight at Midland Circle (in episode 3).
> 
> In _The Defenders_ , Matt tells the others the elevator is the only way out of the underground chamber at Midland Circle. In this story, there is also an escape tunnel, built at Madame Gao’s direction. However, Matt is unaware of it; his senses apparently didn’t detect it. I agree with Elektra that Madame Gao, who was in charge of the construction, would never have allowed the chamber to be built with only one exit.


	4. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right

_Matt_

He was finally living his dream, for both parts of his life. The days were spent with Foggy and Karen, doing the work he’d always dreamed of doing, using the law to help his people, the people of Hell’s Kitchen. The nights belonged to Elektra: racing across the rooftops, fighting with her at his side, helping the Kitchen in ways the law couldn’t. Afterward, going back to his apartment and falling asleep, still entwined in each other after making love. Waking up in the morning with her next to him, breathing in her scent. His life, both of his lives, were complete. He was complete. 

_Foggy_

It _was_ fine. More or less. It just wasn’t the Nelson, Murdock & Page reunion he’d hoped for when they agreed to work together again. Instead of the three of them re-connecting over drinks at Josie’s after work, Matt was spending his evenings and nights with Elektra. Matt was showing up for work and making all of his court appearances, and he wasn’t lying to them about what he was doing with Elektra, as far as Foggy knew. That was a pretty low bar, but it was an improvement over the last time she showed up. Matt actually seemed content. That was a word Foggy never thought he’d use to describe his best friend. Another upside was that Matt looked less beat-up than usual, when he arrived at the office most mornings. Maybe Daredevil could actually use a back-up (not that Matt would ever admit it). And Matt insisted he and Elektra were making a difference, taking drug dealers off the streets.

Elektra seemed to know to keep her distance, or maybe Matt had warned her. She only showed up at the office a few times, to consult Matt about legal issues connected to her assets. Somehow, she had managed to recover them, along with her identity. Foggy decided not to think about how that happened. But even if Elektra wasn’t physically present most of the time, her presence in their lives loomed over them, a constant reminder of the havoc she had caused the last time she showed up. Foggy tried, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that, sooner or later, everything was going to go to sideways, again.

Mostly, Foggy worried about Karen. After a week or so, he started noticing a pattern: she was usually out of the office when Matt was scheduled to be there, and in the office only when he wasn’t. This was troubling. He knew she and Matt had reached some kind of understanding, in the aftermath of Poindexter’s attacks at the _Bulletin_ and the church. He didn’t know what kind of relationship she wanted with Matt, going forward. He was pretty sure Karen herself didn’t know. One thing was certain: she had been hurt when Elektra showed up before, and her reappearance undoubtedly had reopened that wound. But Karen was careful not to let on what she was thinking and feeling, especially on the rare occasions when both she and Matt were in the office. 

Foggy finally found out what Karen was thinking one evening when they were working late, preparing for a mediation in the morning. Matt had already left for the day, saying he was meeting Elektra for dinner. About a half hour after Matt’s departure, Karen marched into Foggy’s office, her heels clicking on the worn asphalt tile floor.

“Please tell me you aren’t OK with this,” she demanded, standing on the far side of Foggy’s desk and leaning over it to glare at him.

“OK with what?” he asked, trying to sound innocent.

“Don’t try to be cute with me,” she snapped. “You know what I’m talking about. _Her_.”

“Jesus,” Foggy thought, “she can’t even say the name. This is bad.” Aloud, he said, “Yeah, I know.” He sighed wearily. “And, no, I’m not OK with it.”

“Then why aren’t you saying something? Or doing something?” Karen demanded. “We need to do something.”

“What, exactly, would that be?” Foggy asked. “Please, tell me. I’m begging you.”

With a frustrated huff, Karen sank into a client chair. Foggy came out from behind his desk to sit in the chair next to hers.

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Ms. Page?” he asked.

“What? No!” Karen exclaimed. “I just think she’s . . . not good for him.”

“Not wrong there,” Foggy said, but he wasn’t buying Karen’s denial.

“There’s gotta be something we can do,” she insisted.

Foggy shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. He thought for a moment, then added, “I remember what happened in college, when they were together before. I know how this is gonna go. It won’t last. It’s only been two weeks. We just need to be patient.”

Karen gave him a skeptical look but didn’t argue the point. Instead, she asked, “What is it with her? Did the Hand do something to her that gives her some kind of hold on him?”

“No,” Foggy replied. “The same thing happened in college, only worse. It was like he was obsessed with her. He spent all his time with her. He stopped going to class. I hardly ever saw him, except when he stopped by our dorm room to pick up a change of clothes. Then, one day, she was just . . . gone. Not only gone from Matt’s life, gone from campus.”

“What happened?”

“No idea. He refused to talk about her, just shut down. All he would say was, ‘It didn’t work out.’ Then he buried himself in his course work. He had a shitload of it to catch up on by that time.”

“If it wasn’t the Hand, what was it?”

Foggy leaned forward, his hands clasped together in front of him, and thought for a minute before answering. “I think there were two things.” He held up a finger. “First, even though Matt didn’t know it at the time, they were both ‘trained’ by that bastard, Stick. He shaped both of them in the same ways.”

“‘Warped’ is more like it,” Karen muttered.

“You got that right,” Foggy agreed. “So he probably saw things in her that were like himself.” He held up a second finger. “Second, I’m pretty sure Elektra knew about Matt’s abilities. She could have figured it out for herself, but I think it’s more likely that Stick told her about him. This was at a time when he was keeping his abilities secret from everyone. He must have felt very isolated and alone at times.”

“Not getting any sympathy from me,” Karen asserted. “He should’ve told you.”

“Nope, no sympathy from me, either,” Foggy agreed. “But my point is, he was free with her, free to be himself. When he was with her, he didn’t have to pretend to be someone he wasn’t, like he did with everyone else. Including me.”

“OK, that makes sense,” Karen said. “But what do we do now?”

“Nothing,” Foggy replied. “Or, rather, we wait them out. It’s only a matter of time before they crash and burn. Trust me.”

“If you say so,” Karen said doubtfully.

“I do,” Foggy assured her, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “I only hope it isn’t too ugly, this time. Because we’re the ones who will have to pick up the pieces.” He got to his feet and went to sit at his desk. “But now we need to get back to work. That summary of the client’s damages isn’t gonna write itself.”

  
As the weeks passed with no disasters, Foggy started to relax, a little. Until the morning an article on the _Bulletin’s_ web site popped up on his phone.

  
**DEATH IN THE DRUG TRADE**  
Special Report to the _Bulletin_  
By T.J. Mason

On the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, drug dealers and their customers are dying in alarming numbers. In the past ten days, seven men allegedly involved in drug trafficking in the West Side neighborhood have been found dead. All were recently arrested for drug sales and subsequently released on bail. The Medical Examiner’s Office has not publicly disclosed how they died, but sources tell the _Bulletin_ some of the victims were strangled, and in other cases, the victim’s neck was expertly snapped. Several also sustained nonfatal lacerations or stab wounds, apparently inflicted by a large knife or a small sword. 

In addition to these deaths, there has been a rash of fatal overdoses among drug users in Hell’s Kitchen. In many of these cases, paper packaging stamped with a logo depicting an owl has been found on or near the victim’s body. According to our sources, analysis of the contents of these packages has detected high levels of fentanyl, a potent synthetic opioid, mixed with heroin.

Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney of the NYPD’s 15th Precinct declined to say whether the vigilante known as Daredevil or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was a suspect in these killings. If he is involved, this would represent a change in his methods, as he has not previously been known to kill his targets. (The killer who attacked the _Bulletin’s_ offices and the Clinton Church recently, killing multiple victims, turned out to be an imposter wearing a “Daredevil” suit. The imposter, former FBI Special Agent Ben Poindexter, is now in custody). Asked about reports of another vigilante operating in Hell’s Kitchen and his possible connection to the killings, Mahoney would state only that police are looking at several persons of interest.

Mahoney advised users of heroin and other opioids to avoid purchasing and using the “owl” branded product, and he encouraged those struggling with addiction to get help by contacting the City’s help line at 1-888-555-DRUG (3784). ###

  
Foggy let his phone fall to his desktop. He felt sick to his stomach. “Oh, shit,” he muttered as he buried his face in his hands. When he looked up, he saw Matt hanging up his coat. “There’s an article on the _Bulletin’s_ web site you need to read,” he said.

“Already read it,” Matt replied. “It’s not her killing those dealers.” He walked into his partner’s office and stood across the desk from Foggy with his hands on his hips.

“And you know this how?”

“I just know it.”

“How can you be sure?” Foggy asked. “You told me yourself you couldn’t hear her heartbeat. She could be lying about this, for all you know.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Matt insisted.

Foggy snorted derisively. “Do I have to remind you that this is the woman who killed Stick in cold blood, right in front of you?”

“No.” Matt shook his head grimly. “But she’s different, now.”

“Says you.”

“I know I’m right,” Matt said. “Whoever’s doing this, it’s not her. We go out together, Fog. Together.”

“And you’re telling me you stay together all the time, you don’t get separated, or have to split up sometimes?”

The doubt on Matt’s face was all the answer he needed. “Well, um, maybe,” Matt finally said, “uh, sometimes.”

Foggy leaned forward, jabbing a finger into his desktop. “And didn’t you tell me she sometimes spends the night at her place, that penthouse she has? So you don’t know what she does on those nights, do you?”

“God damn it, Fog, stop cross-examining me,” Matt snapped.

“Just tryin’ to get to the truth, buddy,” Foggy retorted. 

“Are you?” Matt countered. “Looks to me like your mind is already made up.”

“I don’t want it to be her, any more than you do,” Foggy said, “but if Elektra isn’t killing them, who is?”

“I don’t know, but it can’t be her,” Matt declared. “I know her. You gotta trust me on this, Fog.”

Foggy shrugged. He wasn’t going to change Matt’s mind, not now, anyway. “I hope you’re right,” he said, keeping his misgivings to himself. He took his laptop out of his briefcase. Time to get to work.

  
_Matt_

When Foggy opened his laptop and started typing, Matt headed to his own office. He had work to do, but his doubts kept intruding. Finally, he stopped even trying to work and replayed the conversation with Foggy in his mind. He got why Foggy suspected Elektra , but she couldn’t be the killer. She was no longer the woman who killed Stick. He would know if she was. Surviving Midland Circle had transformed them both. He believed in her. He believed in the power of love and redemption. He had to.

Then he remembered something else Foggy had said. If not Elektra, who? Good question. One he didn’t have an answer for. He needed to find one.

  
_Lee Owlsley_

Lee scowled at the article from the _Bulletin_ on the screen of his laptop. “Martin!” he yelled.

Within a few seconds, Broadus appeared in the open doorway to his office. “Yes, boss?”

“Seven?” Lee asked.

Broadus knew without asking what his boss was talking about. He nodded. “Seven dead. One in intensive care.”

“He’s tryin’ to put me out of business, Martin.”

“That’s what it looks like,” Broadus agreed, taking a seat one of the client chairs. “But are you sure it’s Daredevil? They say he doesn’t kill people.”

“There’s always a first time,” Lee pointed out. “And he could’ve changed. He was missing for months. No one knows what happened to him while he was gone.”

“True,” Broadus agreed. “Or maybe someone else has decided to take his place.”

“Whatever.” Lee waved a hand. “It doesn’t really matter who he is. We have to take him out.” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands in front of his face. “Double the number of men on the street in the Kitchen,” he ordered, “and tell them to shoot to kill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “T. J. Mason,” whose byline appears in several of my stories, is based on two bits of dialogue between Karen and Ellison in season 3. When Ellison assigns the Kazemi story to Karen, she suggests giving it to “T.J.” Later, when Karen is investigating Fisk’s purchase of the Presidential Hotel, Ellison says he’s giving the story to “Mason.” I’ve combined them into one person.


	5. The Owl

_Matt_

Matt was working late, preparing for a deposition. Foggy and Karen had already left for the day. Downstairs, Theo was closing up the shop. Then he heard the door to the shop open and close, and two pairs of heavy footsteps crossing the floor to stand in front of the counter.

“Theo Nelson?” a male voice demanded.

“Yeah, who wants to know?” Theo replied.

“This your shop?” 

“Yeah. What’s it to you?” Matt could hear the defiance, mixed with fear, in Theo’s voice.

“Nice little business you got here,” a second man’s voice said. “Be a real shame if something happened to it.”

“Yeah, you know, like what happened to Ferraro’s,” the first man added. Matt knew exactly what he was referring to, and he was sure Theo did, too. Ferraro’s was the bakery in the next block that burned to the ground a week ago, in a fire “of suspicious origin,” according to an article in the _Bulletin_. Not exactly subtle, these guys.

“So we’re thinking you could use some fire protection, know what I mean?” the second man chimed in.

“Yeah, I know,” Theo said warily. “How much?”

“How much you got in the till?”

“Only about $200,” Theo said. “It was a slow day.” Matt breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that wasn’t true. Theo must have taken the day’s cash receipts into the back room, to prepare the bank deposit.

“That’ll do for a down payment,” the first man said. “But it’s gonna cost you two grand a week. Make sure you have the rest when we come back.”

Theo didn’t reply, and a few seconds later, Matt heard the men’s footsteps, followed by the door opening and closing.

Matt gritted his teeth, then moved. He took off his tie and hung it on the coat rack next to his suit jacket, then grabbed his hooded jacket and scarf. He ran up the stairs to the roof and followed the two men from the rooftops. They went around the corner and into a small shop – a children’s clothing store, Matt thought – in the middle of the block. Apparently the shop owner already knew the routine, because it was only a minute or two before they emerged back onto the street. One of them was shoving something, probably a wad of cash, into his pocket. Matt seethed. This was not going to happen, not to Theo, not to any business owner in Hell’s Kitchen. 

Matt wrapped the scarf around his head and raced down the fire escape. When the two men were below him, he jumped, landing in front of them. One of them reeked of cigarette smoke, the other, of stress sweat. Smoky pulled a gun from his waistband. Before he could raise it and fire, Matt came in close and chopped down hard on his wrist. He dropped the gun and fled, holding his arm. Matt kicked the gun away. By that time, Sweaty had pulled out his own gun and began firing. Matt dodged the bullets with a series of leaps and twists. When the clip was empty, Matt charged. He landed a kick on the middle of his opponent’s chest, sending him staggering. When the man didn’t go down, Matt followed up with a series of punches to the head, then spun him around and kicked the backs of his knees. Already wobbly, Sweaty sank to his knees. Matt stood behind him and twisted his arm behind his back.

“Who do you work for?” Matt demanded.

“Fuck you.”

Matt jerked up on the thug’s arm, stopping just short of the breaking point. “Wrong answer.”

“He’ll kill me if I give up his name,” the man protested, “if you don’t kill me first.”

“I don’t kill people,” Matt told him, “but I can make you wish you were dead.” He paused to lick his lips. “Choose.” There was no answer. He jerked up on Sweaty’s arm again and heard the snap of bone breaking.

The thug howled in pain.

“His name,” Matt growled.

“The Owl,” he gasped.

“Give me a _name_ , asshole,” Matt snapped, not releasing his hold on the thug’s arm.

“Owlsley, Lee Owlsley.”

Matt let go of Sweaty’s arm and pushed him to the pavement. “Tell your friends to stay away from Nelson’s,” he ordered. “Then get outta my city.” He felt for the man’s pocket and pulled out a roll of cash. “Well, look what I found,” he said, holding up the money with a smirk. The thug groaned. Matt gave him a final kick in the ribs before darting away.

  
The next day, the deposition ran long, and it was mid-afternoon before Matt got back to the office. After he took off his coat and set his briefcase and cane down on the table that served as his desk, he went to talk to Foggy. “Hey, Fog,” he said, standing in the opening between the partitions.

Foggy looked up from his laptop. “What’s up? he asked.

“Have you heard of anyone running a protection racket?”

“What?” Foggy asked. “Here, in Hell’s Kitchen?” Matt nodded. “No. Not recently, anyway. My dad told me about the Italians, or maybe it was the Irish, running one, back when I was a kid. But not since.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not the Italians or the Irish this time.”

“Why? What have you heard?”

Matt stepped into Foggy’s office and sat down across the desk from him. “Last night, after you and Karen left, two assholes came into the shop and shook down Theo.”

“God damn it,” Foggy swore.

“They basically threatened to burn down the shop if Theo didn’t pay them. Apparently, they were behind the fire at Ferraro’s bakery last week.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Foggy muttered. “How much did they get?”

Matt reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of cash, and threw it onto Foggy’s desk. “They only got $200 from Theo. The rest is from other businesses.”

Foggy picked up the cash and flipped through it. “There’s a couple grand here, at least. I’ll talk to Theo, make sure it gets back to the right people.”

Matt nodded. “Good.”

“So who were the guys who shook him down?” Foggy asked.

“I’m not sure who they are, but I don’t think Theo has to worry about them coming back,” Matt replied. “I followed them when they left the shop. After they shook down a business around the corner – the kids’ clothing store, I think – I had a, um, conversation with them.”

“I’ll bet you did.”

Matt surged to his feet and leaned across the desk, pointing at Foggy. “What’re you tryin’ to say, Fog? Just say it.”

“Matt, I – ” Foggy began, but Matt didn’t let him finish.

“What was I supposed to do, huh? Sit up here and do nothing when those two assholes threatened your brother?”

“N-no, I mean, of, of course not,” Foggy stammered. “I’m sorry, man, just forget I said anything, OK?”

“OK.” Matt backed off and sat down again, before he continued. “As I was saying, I caught up with them in the alley next to the kids’ store. One of them took off, but I, uh, persuaded the other one to give me a name: Lee Owlsley.”

“Fisk’s money man?”

“Yeah.”

“But he’s dead,” Foggy objected. “Isn’t he?”

“Definitely,” Karen assured him as she walked into the space. “But I remember, when I was at the _Bulletin_ , one of the business writers was talking about a ‘Lee Owlsley.’ Let me check it out.” She turned and went back to her desk. Matt and Foggy sat silently, listening to her tapping the keys on her laptop. “Yes!” she whispered. Then she returned, carrying the computer. She set it down on Foggy’s desk and turned it so Foggy could see the screen.

He read for a moment, then said, “Owlsley had a son, Leland, Jr., known as ‘Lee.’ He was working in Chicago when Owlsley was killed. Shortly after his father’s death, he moved to New York and established a financial services firm. The article implies there was something hinky about where he got the money to do it, but doesn’t exactly come out and say so.”

“Like father, like son,” Matt commented.

“Yeah,” Karen agreed. “The business reporter thought it was Fisk’s money. He said the Feds were never able to track down all of it, and Owlsley could have siphoned off the missing money for himself – and his son.”

“There’s one other thing,” Matt said. “When I asked for a name, the first thing the guy said was ‘The Owl’.”

“The logo on the drugs,” Foggy said.

“Exactly.”

“So, what, you think he’s the man behind the heroin as well as the shakedowns?” Karen asked.

Matt shrugged. “Makes sense. We know there’s a vacuum in the Kitchen since Fisk’s been gone. Someone was always gonna try and fill it.”

“But Owlsley was just the money man,” Foggy objected.

“True,” Matt agreed, “but maybe his son wants to be more than that.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Figure out a way to stop him,” Matt replied grimly.

  
Late that night, Matt took up a position on the fire escape of the building next to the 15th Precinct and waited for Brett Mahoney to appear. When the detective emerged from the side door to the police station, Matt hurried down the fire escape, landing in Mahoney’s path.

“You!” Mahoney exclaimed, sounding annoyed to see the masked figure in black in front of him.

“Nice to see you, too, Detective,” Matt replied with a smirk.

Mahoney sighed wearily. “You figure out some new way to be a pain in my ass?”

“No, just here to pass on some information,” Matt told him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper package with the owl logo. “You know what this is?” he asked, holding out the package so Mahoney could see it.

“Hell, yeah, I know,” Mahoney replied. “Heroin. It’s everywhere. Where’d you get it?” 

“I, uh, interrupted a drug buy. The customer dropped it when he ran away.”

“This must be my lucky night,” Mahoney quipped, “I get to arrest your ass for possession.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Detective, but it’s empty. I flushed the drugs.”

“Of course you did.”

Matt ignored him. “Why I’m here. The man behind this,” he said, gesturing with the hand holding the package, “is someone named Lee Owlsley. His people call him ‘The Owl’.”

“I’d like to see that costume,” Mahoney grumbled.

“So would I.”

Mahoney fell silent for a minute, apparently thinking. “Owlsley?” he asked. “Wasn’t he Fisk’s money guy?”

“Yeah,” Matt replied. “This is his son. He’s not just a money guy. He runs a financial services firm down on Wall Street, but it’s a cover for his real business. Now that Fisk is gone, he’s making a move on Hell’s Kitchen, trying to take control of all of the crime here: the drugs, the guns, the girls, the gambling. He’s even got a protection racket going, threatening small businesses.”

“Damn,” Mahoney swore. “You know I can’t arrest some Wall Street guy on your say-so.”

Matt nodded. “I know. But sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake. Be ready.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,” Mahoney said crossly. But he was talking to thin air. Daredevil had disappeared into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, “The Owl” is not “The Owl” of the comic book canon. He is a Fisk-style villain, who maintains a façade as a legitimate businessman while running a criminal enterprise.


	6. When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time

_Matt_

Matt stood on a rooftop with his head down and his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He’d just finished fighting off four of the Owl’s men, who were standing between him and one of Owlsley’s mid-level distributors. Elektra wasn’t with him. They’d split up about an hour ago, when she ran toward the sound of a woman screaming, and he took off in the opposite direction, to stop a robbery at a smoke shop. He hadn’t picked up any trace of her presence since then. When his breathing slowed, he straightened up and inclined his head toward the streets below, alert for signs of trouble. He focused on the sounds reaching him from several blocks away: a drug deal, going sideways. He leaped the gap to the next roof and sprinted to the scene.

By the time he arrived, it was all over. The dealer’s customer was cowering next to a dumpster, sobbing. The dealer was lying on the ground. He wasn’t breathing, and Matt couldn’t hear a heartbeat. To be sure, he checked for a pulse. Nothing. He turned to the dealer’s customer. “What happened?” he demanded.

Between sobs, the man gasped out, “She killed him, she _killed_ him!”

She? Matt dipped his head and explored his surroundings. Mixed in with the smell of blood, he detected a hint of a familiar scent. His blood ran cold. He sank to his knees, whispering, “No, no, no, no, no.”

He stayed where he was, immobilized by shock, for several minutes. It felt like much longer. At the edges of his awareness, he heard the customer scramble to his feet and run away. He didn’t try to stop him. Finally, he got to his feet and headed back to his apartment. He knew what he had to do. 

When he reached the roof of his building, he didn’t go inside right away. He leaned against the stairwell wall, struggling to make sense of what he’d just learned. He focused on his breathing, trying to calm his swirling emotions. Finally, he forced himself to face the cold, hard facts. When he did, he realized he shouldn’t have been shocked by his discovery that Elektra was killing the drug dealers. There was plenty of evidence. He just didn’t want to see it. From the moment she killed Stick, he should have known what she was. She didn’t want him to save her from herself; she accepted what she was, even embraced it. He was a fool to keep trying. They could have gotten out of Midland Circle, through the escape tunnel, but she chose death, for both of them. Better to die, she’d decided, as long as she could take him with her. She didn’t value anyone’s life – not his life, not even her own. So much for love and redemption, he thought bitterly.

He set his jaw and walked down the stairs into his apartment, pulling off his mask and gloves as he descended. Elektra was already there, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her. Her sais were on the table next to the wine glass. She must have cleaned them, but he could still detect the smell of blood. She raised her head to watch him, apparently sensing his mood. He reached the bottom of the steps and threw his mask and gloves on the desk. Then he went to stand at the end of the couch, facing her. “It was you,” he said coldly. “You killed those dealers.”

“Everyone dies, Matthew,” she said with a laugh, her musical laugh that he delighted in, never wanting it to stop. Now it felt like a dagger to his heart. “It came a little sooner for them, that’s all.”

“It’s not up to you, who lives and who dies.”

“It _is_ up to me,” she declared. “They were scum. Your city is a better place without them.”

He clenched his fists, trying to quell the rage that had been building since he discovered the dealer’s lifeless body. If he acted on it, he would become what she wanted him to be, ever since she took him to Roscoe Sweeney’s mansion. He couldn’t let that happen. He let out a wordless yell and lashed out, propelling the coffee table onto its side. The sais fell to the floor with a metallic clink. One of them landed on top of the wine glass and shattered it. The smell of wine grew stronger.

“What’re you going to do, Matthew? Kill me?” she asked mockingly.

For an instant, he wanted to kill her, as much as he once wanted to kill Wilson Fisk. But the impulse passed, as quickly as it had flared. He couldn’t do it. Everyone deserved a chance at redemption. He wasn’t going to take that away from her. And she knew it. She knew him. He paced back and forth, breathing hard. When he regained some semblance of control, he turned to her. “This has always been just a game for you, hasn’t it?” he asked bitterly.

“No, Matthew,” she told him quietly. “I tried to be what you wanted me to be. I really did. But I don’t have it in me.”

“You did, before the Hand took you,” Matt protested. “I saw it.”

“No, you didn’t. You have always been blind to who I really am.”

He retreated to the stairs and sat down, his head in his hands. Finally, he raised his head and asked, “Always?”

She scoffed. “You thought you loved me, but you didn’t, not really. You couldn’t love me, because you refused to see me for who I am. You were in love with your idea of me, not with me.”

He lowered his head again and sat on the stairs, thinking, for what felt like a long time. He could hear the truth, _her_ truth, in her voice. How could he have deluded himself for so long? Elektra’s words and actions had told him who she was, over and over again. Someone wiser than him said it: “When someone tells you who they are, believe them.” He had been wilfully blind, refusing to believe her when she told him who and what she was.

Maybe he was wrong, after all, about the redemptive power of love. Or maybe, as she said, it wasn’t love, only an illusion. He didn’t want to believe she was beyond redemption, but it was not in his power to save her. Only she could save herself, if she chose to do so. Now that he understood that, he could, finally, let her go. He stood up and walked across the room to stand in front of her.

“You need to leave my city,” he said. 

“Matthew, I’m – ” she began, but he didn’t want to hear whatever it was that she was going to say.

 _“Now,”_ he said. “And don’t come back.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “for everything.”

He didn’t know whether to believe her. “Just go,” he said.

She picked up her sais and walked up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she turned toward him and said, “Goodbye, Matthew.” Then she was gone.

As soon as he heard the door to the roof close, he sank into the chair behind him. He couldn’t sit on the couch, where she had been sitting. Her scent would be too strong there. His anger slowly faded away. Now he only felt empty, hollowed out, just as he’d felt when he believed she had died. Illusion or not, he had loved her. That wasn’t going to change. But he couldn’t be with her, not any more. He had once told her, in what seemed like another lifetime but was only months ago, that they had to stop corrupting each other. It was still true. He had hoped his love would help her find a path to redemption, but it was not to be. 

Now he had to pay the price for his mistakes. He had to tell Foggy and Karen how badly he’d fucked up. When he did, the dream of Nelson, Murdock & Page would be over. He’d been given a second chance, and he blew it. He didn’t deserve another one. Not after everything he’d put Foggy and Karen through. They were better off without him.

  
The next night, Matt was standing in the shadows under the stairs leading to the front door of Lee Owlsley’s Upper West Side brownstone, waiting for Owlsley to return home. He was beating himself up at the same time, for not having the guts to tell Foggy and Karen the truth today. Instead, he acted like everything was normal. It wasn’t even that difficult. He’d gotten pretty good at it, after all the years he spent hiding his abilities from them and everyone else. He gritted his teeth. Tomorrow, he told himself, he’d come clean with them tomorrow. In the meantime, he had business to take care of with Owlsley tonight. 

Since they learned Owlsley’s identity, Karen had been researching him. There wasn’t much in the public record, but she was able to learn where he lived. She also found out he was attending a charity event that evening and likely wouldn’t get home until late. Matt decided Daredevil should be there when he did.

A car approached and double parked in front of the brownstone. A car door slammed, and footsteps headed in his direction. When the car drove away, Matt stepped out from the shadows. “You need to call off your goons and get out of Hell’s Kitchen,” he said.

“Who the hell are you?” Owlsley demanded.

“I’m Daredevil.” 

“Sure you are.” Owlsley reached into his pocket.

 _“Don’t,”_ Matt growled. 

Owlsley pulled an empty hand out of his pocket. “I don’t know who you think I am,” he declared.

“I know who you are.”

“Not saying you’re right, but even if I was whoever you think I am, why would I do what you want?”

“Because . . . .” Matt paused for a moment. He needed to choose his words carefully. “I can make your life hell if you don’t. Just ask Wilson Fisk. And because I’ve done something for you. The . . . person who’s been killing your dealers and distributors . . . that person has been, uh, removed from the city. By me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Owlsley objected.

“I think you do,” Matt replied. “The important thing is, no more of your people are going to die.”

“They say you’re the one who’s been killing them.”

Matt shook his head. “It wasn’t me. I don’t kill people. I just, ah, dealt with the person who was.”

“Who was it?”

“Not important.”

“It’s important to me,” Owlsley declared. “Is it one of my people?”

“No,” Matt replied, “and that’s all I’m giving you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You don’t have to. The killings have stopped. You’ll see, soon enough.”

“Says you,” Owlsley retorted skeptically.

“There’s one other thing,” Matt told him, waving a hand, “the person who’s been lacing your product with fentanyl and killing your customers. I don’t know who it is, but it’s not the person who’s been killing your dealers. The person who’s tampering with your product has to be one of your people, someone with access to the drugs. You’ve got a traitor in your organization.”

“Yeah,” Owlsley scoffed, “tell me something I don’t know.” He was talking to himself. Daredevil had slipped away, into the shadows.

As he traveled back to Hell’s Kitchen, Matt pondered the Owlsley problem. He had delivered his message, but he had no illusions about its effectiveness. Owlsley was determined to install himself as the new boss in the Kitchen. Stopping the killings wouldn’t prevent that. Nor would Daredevil’s threats. Matt needed to find a way to take him down, but that would have to wait. He had more important things to worry about.

  
In the morning, Matt trudged up the stairs to the makeshift office above Nelson’s Meats, wishing he could delay his arrival and the reckoning that was going to take place when he got there. He reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the door. Foggy and Karen were already there, but instead of greeting them, he went straight to his office. He set his briefcase and folded cane on the desk, then took off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. He started to take off his glasses but decided against it. Before he could chicken out, he took a deep breath and said, “Foggy? Karen? We need to talk.”

Both of his friends and partners (for now) emerged from their offices.

“Hey, Matt,” Foggy said. “What’s up?”

“Morning, Matt,” Karen said.

He didn’t answer them, simply gestured toward a table in the office’s open area. Foggy and Karen sat down next to each other. Matt took a seat across from them. He wanted to have the table between them. His heart raced. Get it over with, he told himself, taking another deep breath. “I’m sorry, guys, I fucked up,” he began.

“Not exactly new news,” Foggy muttered.

“Foggy . . . ,” Karen said reproachfully.

Matt didn’t respond. He continued, doggedly, “You were right, Fog, it was Elektra.”

“It was Elektra what?” Foggy asked.

“She killed those drug dealers.”

His revelation was met with silence. As it stretched on, he thought Foggy and Karen were in shock, or maybe there was some nonverbal communication between them that he couldn’t pick up. Maybe both. When neither of them said anything, he said, “She’s gone. I told her to leave the city, and she went.” Still no response. Finally he heard Foggy take a breath. He was about to speak.

“That sucks, man,” Foggy said. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

“It’s OK, Fog, you can say it,” Matt told him.

“Say what?”

“‘I told you so.’”

“Nope, not goin’ there.”

Karen sat quietly during the two men’s exchange. Now she spoke up. “Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t believe his ears. “ _You’re_ sorry?” he asked. “You’ve done nothing to be sorry for.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she explained. “I meant, I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

Wait, what? This was not the reaction he expected. But it didn’t change anything. “Look, I know it’s bad,” he said, starting to get to his feet, “I’ll pack up my stuff – ”

Foggy interrupted him. “What d’you mean, pack up your stuff?”

“Well, yeah,” Matt said, “I mean, you’re not gonna want – ”

“Look, Matt,” Foggy said, talking over him again. “I’m not gonna lie to you. Karen and I, we weren’t happy when Elektra showed up and you started spending all your time with her.” Karen nodded her agreement. “But that was your choice. And you didn’t lie to us, and you didn’t let us down. Not like . . . before.” 

“Guess I learned from my mistakes, huh?” Matt said with a pained half-smile, sinking back into his seat.

“Yes, you did,” Karen said, “but maybe not all of them.”

“What d’you mean?”

“You’re pushing us away – again.”

“No,” Matt protested, “I mean, I don’t want to, but – ”

She didn’t let him finish. “You think we’re gonna bail on you because of this?”

“I fucked up, big time,” Matt replied. “I thought she’d changed, really changed, this time. I was wrong, and people died.”

“That’s not on you, Matt,” Foggy told him. “That’s on her. OK, you made a mistake. Your mistake was believing in her, believing she could change. Well, I got news for you, buddy, that’s what makes you who you are, believing everyone deserves a second chance, everyone can be redeemed.”

“I’m not so sure I believe that anymore,” Matt said. “I was a God damned idiot, thinking she had changed.”

“Maybe you were,” Foggy agreed, “but you didn’t kill those people. She did.”

“But, Fog, you don’t understand,” Matt protested.

“I understand perfectly,” Foggy declared. “I understand that I’m seeing Matt Murdock beat himself up over something that is Not. His. Fault. I know it when I see it. God knows I’ve seen it enough times before.”

“Foggy’s right, Matt,” Karen said. “Honestly, on my list of ‘Matt Murdock’s Biggest Fuck-ups,’ this doesn’t even make the top five.”

“There’s a list?” Foggy quipped.

“Shut up, Foggy,” Karen snapped. “Listen to me, Matt, if we were gonna bail on you, we’d have done it long before this.” 

That at least was true. He’d given them plenty of reasons to bail on him, before now. To be honest, he didn’t fully understand why they hadn’t, why they kept coming back. Whatever it was, he was grateful. “Thanks, guys,” he said, “I know I don’t deserve it, but– ”

Foggy cut him off. “No ‘buts,’ buddy. And I suggest you stop talking, or I may have to reconsider.”

 _“Foggy,”_ Karen said.

“Just kidding.” Foggy got to his feet. “Last time I checked, this was supposed to be a workplace. Don’t we all have work to do?” He turned and went back into his office.

“I know I do,” Karen said, as she stood up. Matt followed the sound of her footsteps into her office.

There was nothing more to do, except get to work. Matt returned to his own office, sat down at his desk and leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and his feet propped up on the desk. He had been so wrong. The place he needed to be wasn’t with Elektra. It was here, with two people who, incredibly, still wanted to be his friends. He smiled to himself. This was his home.

  
_Postscript_

_Two Weeks Later_

**MURDER VICTIM IDENTIFIED AS WALL STREET EXEC**  
Special Report to the _Bulletin_  
By T. J. Mason

The murder victim found by a jogger yesterday morning in East River Park has been identified as Martin Broadus, 46. The Medical Examiner has determined the cause of death was a gunshot wound and classified the death as a homicide. Sources tell the _Bulletin_ the victim was shot execution-style, a single bullet to the back of the head.

Mr. Broadus was the Chief Operating Officer of Lee Owlsley & Associates, a Wall Street financial services company. Mr. Owlsley told the _Bulletin_ , “Martin was not only a valuable employee. He was a good friend. He will be greatly missed. On behalf of myself and everyone at the firm, I extend our deepest sympathy to Martin’s family and his many friends.”

A native of Illinois, Mr. Broadus received his MBA from the University of Chicago Business School. After graduation, he joined the Chicago office of Silver & Brent, where he worked closely with Mr. Owlsley. When Mr. Owlsley established his firm here two years ago, Mr. Broadus joined it as Chief Operating Officer and moved to this city.

Reached for comment at his home in Southern Illinois, Mr. Broadus’s brother, Mark Broadus, stated that his brother’s death was not the only tragedy to befall the family recently. Earlier this year, he said, their sister Marie died as a result of an apparent drug overdose, a victim of the opioid epidemic.

A spokesman for the NYPD declined comment on the case, stating only that the investigation is ongoing. Sources at the 8th Precinct told the _Bulletin_ the investigation has stalled, with few leads and no persons of interest. ###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In his thoughts, Matt paraphrases the quote from Maya Angelou that serves as the chapter title.
> 
> The story line involving “The Owl” is unfinished, intentionally so. He may show up in a future story.
> 
> What are the top five on your list of “Matt Murdock’s Biggest Fuck-ups”? In the TV series? In the comics?


End file.
